I'm Sorry
by ThisisPorky.exe
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why did she do it? WARNING: This fic contains themes of character death, depression, self-harm and suicide. Please read at your own risk.


_**WARNING: as stated before, this fic contains character death, heavy themes of depression, self harm, and suicide. please read at your own risk.**_

_**this would be better read while listening to Cry of Fear/Afraid of Monsters/Silent hill music/ost, but hey, thats just me. ...yeah sorry**_

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><p>'She's gone...s-she's fucking gone...!'<p>

Blood and brain matter were what now decorated the wall. The limp body of a woman could be seen in a chair, a shot-gun resting in her arms. Her blue dress was ruined, her face a mess. She wasn't the beauty the French man first clapped eyes on that very first moment he saw her in that busy Boston street, struggling with bags of shopping with no other being to help her. He could never again hear her sweet, soft voice sing gently to him, or her just chatting away about the bitch at the hair-dresses, or hear her say how much she was going to miss him.

Yet there the both of them were, standing at her bloodied feet, staring at her now lifeless body. So badly do they wonder what drove her to doing it. No answers could be found anywhere in the room explaining her suicide - just a note left on the table in front of her stating "_I'm Sorry_" in her curly hand-writing. Her two most loved and cherished boy's stood in front of her, their eyes welling to the brim with tears.

With slow movements, the one in the classy red coloured suit turned his gaze over to the younger male in the blue coloured uniform, though he paid the other no attention. His eyes were glued to her, not daring to move, though his whole body was shivering. His bandaged hands formed to balls of fists, his knuckles turning white. His buck teeth gritted, and the suited man knew he was about to explode into a fury of anger, but on what he wasn't certain of. Himself? Her dead body? The wall? He didn't know.

'...Ma...'

The place stunk to high heaven, a thing that would usually irritate the Spy, but in this case didn't bother him in the slightest. He was more worried of what the BLU Scout would do. His eyes were red, tears leaking over their banks, running down his red cheeks. They didn't know the call was drastic - they thought the one woman they loved was just wanting them to visit - and after asking the Administrator, they were allowed to, and came straight away. Which she did want. But not like this. Anything but this. She sounded so calm and happy over the phone. No hint of what she was about to do or was planning in her cheery voice. She sounded so normal to them, and that's what pained them the most.

Spy felt his heart crush even more when he saw Scouts tears. The colours that blocked them from becoming closer no longer matted. Even when on the plane back to Boston, they spoke no words and stayed in their own world, wanting to murder each others presence. That was an awkward silence. This was a different one. One that needed words. But what could you exactly say in this type of situation? Spy doubted he wanted him at this time, and that anything he said would only make his mood worse - make him closer to exploding in a frenzy of angry words and punches.

But then the boy looked at him. His bottom lip quivered, and his body's shaking intensified. He looked so broken - even more broken than the amount of times Miss Pauling had knocked him down and blocked him out.

'She's...she's gone, Spy... She's gone, and I n-never got to say good-bye...'

'I...know...'

'I never once got ta say good-bye... W-we both never did...'

They stared at each other, the silence heavy. And then Scout moved forward and wrapped his arms around the Spy's neck. Of course it shocked the French man; he thought he was going to attack out of depression and anger, not actually hug him. The boy did the only thing he could manage to do, and that was sob in to the older mans shoulder, legs quaking under his seemingly heavy weight. His sniffles and sobs stretched around the room as Spy eagerly hugged back after little time, not caring about anything else but the boy clinging to him.

And they stayed like that, Spy releasing his own tears that soaked into his mask, making it that deeper red.

Soon, the police came to clean up the scene. They'd shooed the pair out, not really saying what they would do with the body. Obviously them being lazy, they saw the note, the mess and the shot-gun and instantly classed it as a suicide. Which it was - Spy wasn't going to argue with that. It was just the way they did it was what angered him the most. He still held the sobbing boy in his arms, and the French frog saw the look the men gave the Scout. A look of...what was that? Anger? Mockery? It was mockery. They were mocking him. From inside there vans he heard them laughing and speaking quietly before more laughter erupted from them. He heard "boy" and "wuss" in their conversation. He would have no problem sinking his butter-fly knife into their backs, but he didn't want to make the situation worse for themselves.

After they drove away, Spy ordered a taxi. He told him to go to the nearest hotel, which was the "Cottage Inn" just a few miles away. He paid the stupid over-expensive price as soon as they arrived and showed Scout the way to the doors. Spy ordered a single room - it luckily wasn't too busy and they got one with no trouble. Scout didn't even know where he was by the time they'd entered the doors.

As they entered, Scout clung to Spy's body, his long arms wrapping around his slender waist and head burying in his side. Round two of his sobbing left his shaking body. It was better he let it out, now than not keep the emotions trapped inside. This was better for him, and he was secretly glad he was there to comfort the BLU to the best of his ability. He never was good with kids, after all, but this was something he simply couldn't forget.

'Come on,' Spy gently ordered, walking over to the single bed with the boy still holding on to him. He placed himself down, Scout following, and from there, they both cried. They simply held each other as they allowed their emotions to flow. After a small while, Scouts sobs died down. The Spook had long since stopped, gently stroking at Scouts back in a circular motion and rocking back and forth in an attempt to help sooth him. And it worked. Soon he stopped crying all together. Spy knew he was mentally damaged, as he wasn't shooting his mouth off about them being in a single bed, or him being so close to the boy, or the fact that he had to spend the night with a back-stabbing French man he hated with a passion. He didn't question it, nor say anything about it. He seemed un-caring that he was spending the night with the enemy.

'W-why'd she do it...?' Was what was uttered against Spy's chest, voice shaky and hoarse.

'...I do not know.' He replied back.

They slept through the night, the BLU still clinging to the RED. In the morning, they ate breakfast without so much as another word, headed to an air-port, and headed back to Teu_Fort. Scout had hoped for it to be a horrible dream, but with him waking up with Spy by his side, he doubted with a heavy heart it was.

Everyone - RED and BLU - had heard the news, and had decided against saying anything to the pair about the incident. Those words on that piece of paper still haunted the pair.

Many times had the Scout tried to take his own life, thankfully not succeeding thanks to the rest of the teams efforts and persuasion. He'd tried with hanging, taking an over-dose of pills he'd stolen from Medic's office, even trying to over-drink alcohol - he'd just keep drinking and drinking the srcumpie he'd stashed away from Demo's hiding place. Soon he fell into the habit of cutting his wrists to let it out - he decided against talking to the rest of them, and every attempt Medic made to talk to him or to take a look at the cuts lead to an angry battle of words before the slam of a door. Even on the field, he wasn't his usual cocky self, and he was seen less and less charging in to the RED's base for their intel. The bandages on his hands had been wrapped up a lot further on his arms to hide away his slits, and he was motionless towards the other. The only emotion he let off was anger, which driven everyone to staying away from him.

He'd grown a lot quieter.

As for Spy, he was a lot more grumpy and snappy with the others. Their Scout didn't even dare try and play a trick on him because of what happened last time. He'd nearly got his throat sliced open. He'd taken on heavy drinking, and hid himself away a lot more than he used to. Every contact he had with the other team-mates were either in a drunken rage or on the field, and even then he didn't communicate that often with them. He didn't put the effort into tormenting the BLU's any more. He wasn't sapping their sentries or taking out the Heavy or Medic.

It was like he'd vanished from existence.

It got so bad that they were finally laid off from work as they weren't doing their job anymore; new replacements filling their slots in no time. They'd both headed back to Boston, where they shared a low-rent flat together and tried to help each other with their clinically diagnosed depression. The jobs they had were very low in pay, but at this point they didn't really care. They never found out the answer to why she did it even after going back to that same place she ended it. Everything looked normal - there were literally no signs as to why. Her money was fine, she'd paid all the bills. There was no answer.

Soon, at the age of 26, Scout had finally succeeded in hanging himself with the help of some pills he'd managed to steal, at the same place his Ma had taken her own life. His body was found slumped on the floor, the light-bulb he'd taken his life on not being able to support his weight any longer. Spy, shortly after, took his own life with one of his glock's he'd managed to sneak out of the base with him, at the age of 51; both ending it in the same house, in near enough the same place she did. His body was found just beside Scouts, his head blown off and brain matter decorating the walls. He'd died an hour after Scout. Their doctors hadn't helped cure their severe depression, and they'd long since stopped taking their medication to help with it.

One thing was left on the table from both of them, mirroring the same as what they'd found with her.

"_We're Sorry_"


End file.
